


Are You Running Out Of Time?

by Momma_Time



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Blood, Canon Era, Corruption, Death, Falling In Love, Gods AU, Good vs Evil, Hamburr, Hamburr but one-sided, Historically Inaccurate, Hopefully ill give this a happy ending, I hope, I may make them into people we know eventually, I want it to be painful, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, Manipulation, Maybe - Freeform, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Ocs are the other gods or super minor characters, Pain, Pining, Tags may change and relationships probably will too, Violence, but its not super detailed, just putting that out there, kind of but not really, lemme know if im doin it right, life and death au, obviously, seriously, some smut, this will not be a happy fic for the most part, weird homemade mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 18:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8678296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma_Time/pseuds/Momma_Time
Summary: Fate and Time rule the universe with the love of any parent; their children Life and Death multiply as time goes on. Love, Dreams, and War serve them all happily. All of these work to keep the balance in the universe.But there was a third child. Fate knew that the universe would not be in balance without something to counter the good. Darkness was born, and it is Darkness that seeks to plague every world and corrupt all of their siblings. Time and Fate will not rule over them if they have any say in it. They will take power, and they will bring their family down with them to do it.The number of children that take the name Life or Death or servants that take the names of Love, War, or Dreams increases when someone dies, but it wasn't their time to go. Fate knows who will become one of her children or servants.-One soldier in a blue coat takes the shots meant for his brother in arms. Death greets him with a song.One man is caught in the act with his lover. Love and Dreams accept him with loving smiles.One man saves a woman from falling into a river. Life and Death embrace him with gentle kisses to fevered skin.Formally Father_Time





	1. Every Story Needs A Beginning...

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Life-Death Gods au/Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/243904) by exadorlion. 



> **HUGE NOTE FIRST:  
> This chapter has graphic depictions of death/murder, a little smut, and a lot of suffering as the characters are dying. After the first section in this chapter, the whole rest of this is going to be sad, bloody, and really just not happy. I'll put a Reader's Digest version of this chapter in the footnotes for those of you who want to skip this bit...but you'll miss out on a bit of the build up.
> 
> Anyway
> 
> So I saw a fanart by exadorlion on Tumblr, and it was of Alex and Thomas as the gods of life and death that are basically smitten if the looks they're giving each other in one drawing is anything to go by.  
> I'm going to change their outfits a little, but otherwise, who they are will stay the same.  
> Everything else?  
> Buddy, buckle your seatbelt because it's going to be a wild ride for both of us.  
> I should be finishing my dozen portfolios for finals, but here I am writing a +3k prologue for an au that I shouldn't be writing. I have essays, dern it!  
> If you see any mistakes, lemme know. I don't have a beta reader to double check. My biggest issue is keeping a consistent tense. That's my Achilles heel...
> 
> Ages are done in "-ish" measurements:  
> Alex=22  
> Aaron=23  
> Thomas=26  
> Thomas was actually 41 when he did his tour of France, but for the sake of this fic, he's mid-twenties-ish. I like age difference just as much as the next guy, but I didn't want that kind of gap for them in this fic.

There was never a time that Fate and Time did not exist. Fate is unchanging, unending, and untouched by time and pain. Time is steady but messy, unending, and will not be swayed to change events. Fate and Time rule over all, gods or otherwise, and all must submit to them. In Time's left hand, he carries a dagger; in Fate's right hand, she carries a seed. Death and Life are their children. Although there are many of them, in their hearts and souls, they are all the same two children of Fate and Time. Fate commands her servants, Love, War, and Dreams, to follow Life and Death and to assist them when necessary. They will follow their own paths, but they will always find their way back to the sides of the children of Fate.

Fate's children and servants are not constant. Their numbers are steadily growing and decreasing at every moment in the universe. There is a way to be added to Fate and Time's many children and servants. When someone dies before their time, due to an error by Death or by the hand of the Darkness, Fate will place them in a position where they could best serve and rule the universe. A mortal could be assigned the role of Death or Dreams, for example.

But there's a catch.

The universe must remain balanced, and as such, per what Time has said many times, there will always be good and evil, light and dark. Fate had a third child, Darkness, who grew into many and spread like a disease, an oil spill over the fresh water of life. It was unavoidable that Fate would need someone that would be the evil of this life, and despite her desires, she did what had to be done to keep the balance. Her other children and servants did not only work as their namesake, but also as her soldiers. They, in doing their work, would keep the balance and would fight to the death to maintain that balance when necessary. Yes, they could be killed. It would only happen if their head were removed, or, they could be corrupted by Darkness. It had happened many times. Where and when the worst disasters took place is where one could find a time when one of the five was corrupted.

Corrupted Death would bring sickness and natural disasters. Massive earthquakes, hurricanes, wildfires that burned the land quickly during droughts.

Corrupted Life would bring pestilence and famine. Food and water sources would run dry, swarms of locus could destroy everything in their path. Starvation followed Life.

Corrupted Love would bring lies and murder and fear. Obsessions and deadly addictions followed behind them.

Corrupted Dreams would bring false hope and allow for evil to rise to power. We here on Earth all remember one Adolf Hitler.

Corrupted War would bring wars on global or star system sized scales. One we know of that occurred here is World War I and II.

However, they could be stopped; sometimes the hunt came to a swift end and other times the hunt could go for years before the corrupted god was found. Fate would weep every time one of her children was corrupted by Darkness or slaughtered in the aftermath. She and Time knew when one of her children or servants would be corrupted, knew it would happen since the dawn of time. It is never easy to lose one's child, even when one is a supreme god of the universe.

 

With this in mind, let's follow one such tale of two of Fate and Time's children who face off against Darkness.

 

__________________

 

_Darkness._

_Pain._

_Can't move, can't breathe, choking and oh gods, oh gods, please make it stop! It hurts. I'm scared._

_Mother! Mother, please! Please make it stop!_

_Screaming. Where is the screaming coming from? It's a high pitched wail that's gathering strength, that's choked silent by a gurgle, a cough? Why is the noise gurgling?_

_Oh, gods, I can't breathe, can't breathe or scream for help and Mother, save me! Please...I want it to stop. Please make it stop...please stop the pain, the hurt, and Mother, I still can't breathe, get the weight off of my chest so I can breathe! Get it off!_

_The pain is leaving...everything is slowly going silent? Mother, is that you? Please wait for me. I...I think I'm coming. I think it's my turn._

_Still, I can't breathe...colors flash beneath my eyelids as everything falls silent, the pain has left, the weight isn't...it isn't scary anymore. It's a comfort, warm. Mother...Mother is that your embrace? Please...Please let it be your embrace. I have missed you for so long; you were so beautiful and kind, and you worked so hard to keep me safe, to keep me fed. Can I finally return the favor? When I meet you soon, how may I repay you? How can I offer you the love you offered me ten years ago? You deserve so much more than I can give, that I will ever be able to give, but I want to try. I want to try for you and please, Mother, take my hand and show me the way._

_Are you singing to me mother? Is that your voice? ...I remember...I remember you singing that to me when I had nightmares. You had such a beautiful voice. You still do..._

_I miss you...the pain is gone...everything is so warm and inviting, and I'm so tired Mother..._

_...I'm coming._

The soldier's last breath passed through his lips, the hands clenched into the dirt went slack as the young man in a blue coat drifted away, went to sleep. There was chaos all around him, soldiers in blue and red screaming, firing guns at one another. Horses cried out in panic and tried to flee, dragging their death riders behind them. Men fell to their death, or hit the ground and holding their arm or leg to stave off the bleeding while crying from the pain. The wounded wished that they could die. It would be so much safer, so peaceful compared to this war, to anything that existed in this world.

 

 _________________

 

War, on his own warhorse charged to and fro, cutting down soldier after soldier in his frenzy. Every blow from his ax was a bullet from another soldier, a dagger to the stomach or throat. War guided each weapon, each soldier as they fought and killed one another. It was a slaughter.

His mistress, Death, followed behind him, silently moving through the chaos like a ghost as she directed War as to who needed to die and who didn't. Two young men in blue coats were fighting off three in red. The taller one, the one with cropped, blonde hair that usually sported the biggest smile around his companion, was the one who needed to die. His friend, his brother in arms, would be spared today. His time was not yet here, and he had many years ahead of him.

Death gracefully gestured to the blond boy, indicating that it was his turn, to go. As War charged forward, intending to strike, the smaller of the two, the one who was not yet destined to die, rammed into his friend to knock him out of harm's way. War, and the bullets meant for the blond, struck him instead. The bullets tore through his chest, ripped through flesh and bone and embedding themselves in his lungs, his heart. It wouldn't be long now. The blond screamed and tried to scramble to his friend, but War needed to finish his job and struck him just as he reached the other soldier. The boy staggered a moment, swaying as he stared down at his belly in shock. Death nodded to War, and two more bullets were fired through the blond's head, ending his suffering instantly.

The smaller soldier, the one who had tried to save his friend, was crying out in pain and writhing on the ground, terrified and in agony. This was one death that she could not interfere with; Death could not direct War to finish him off, as the boy was never meant to be killed today. Instead, she gave War future instructions for how to finish the day's battle without her, in case she was unable to guide him again. When War left with a shout of victory and euphoria, Death slowly knelt beside the boy. She couldn't take his life, couldn't finish him, but that didn't mean that she couldn't offer some semblance of peace and love before they met in person. Death took the form of the boy's mother; dark curls fell freely down her back and the kind eyes that only a mother could have smiled down at the boy. _Alexander_ , her instincts provided. She gently pressed a finger to his temple and went to a memory of his mother singing a lullaby to him; Death began to sing softly to the boy named Alexander. She held him close, continued to smile softly down at his closed eyes as he choked on his own blood, twitching until finally, finally, he stilled.

Death waited a moment before calling softly, "Alexander, wake up."

 

________________________________________

 

 _It's my fault. I brought this on myself. I was supposed to deliver a letter to Knox, not take a side trip to visit my lover. But I couldn't help it. She's the woman I love, the one I could never live without; I had to see her. Her voice is so soft, so kind and loving, and her touch is so gentle but burns me from the inside out. Fire flows through my veins when our eyes meet_ , _when we touch._

 _Our lips meet with urgency, panting for_ breath, _as if Time himself was against us and we need to hurry before our bubble of peace was pierced. Everything would end, I knew this. I had lost my family, inherited a wealth and name that I didn't earn and didn't understand. I knew about endings. I didn't think ours would end so soon. That my life would end here and now. That I would be above my lover one moment, and then torn away from her the next._

_Everything is moving in slow motion. It says that it's like this; in books, I mean. You see your life flash before your eyes, time slows down, you hold your breath. I can see the glint of steel, can hear the soft whistle as it cuts through the air, and then nothing. Briefly, I can see the floor, can see my blood pooling on the carpet in front of me, and then it's gone as my eyes roll back into my head. I can hear my lover's screams, her wailing and calling my name. For one more second, I can register who killed me. A man in a red coat, my lover's husband who fights for the King, stands over me. He caught me in my act of sin, and I paid for it. I sinned, I didn't survive, and I paid for it._

Darkness.

 

_______________

 

Lust stood in the corner of the room, watching the drama unfold. The boy, Aaron, an intelligent young man who wanted to rise to power someday, was caught with Theodosia at last. The stage had been set, the suggestion had been whispered, and then the play began. Lust danced this way and that, weaving in and our around the people in the room and the bed and the tiny bells around his waist and ankles made quiet sounds with every step and every turn. He twirled for a moment, skin shining in the candlelight, and changed direction, calling out temptations and suggestions in a sing-song voice. His dance, his movements, were like that of a conductor, directing the characters into doing this or that.

The climax came. Building and building between the lovers and coming up on the moment Theodosia ripped Aaron's shirt over his head and tossed it away. Lust guided them into a frenzy, a crazed hunger for one another, a fire that consumed them. If only, Lust thought briefly, they could actually consume one another. Give them such a hunger for their lover that they would actually tear one another apart in order to have more. It would be bloody and an interesting way to die as they ripped chunks away from the other's body, but they needed the young man, not the girl.

No. He had to die this way.

Lust looked over to his own lover, Power, and smiled devilishly as he slowed his movements, swayed and rolled his hips just so for the satisfaction of watching Power's eyes go dark with want. Lust was looking forward to the afterparty when they finished with Aaron. Power knew what he liked, Power knew how to take Lust. And Lust knew every way to make Power sing for him. It was always passionate, and they never stopped hungering for one another. You see, Lust loves Power, and Power benefits from Lust. They were a match made in heaven, so to speak.

Lust glanced back to the bed, watching the lovers together. Just the sight of them, the glimpse into the physical hunger for another, was enough to rile him up.

Back in the bed, Lust watched as the couple whispered sweet words to one another, while at the same time, Aaron was driving into Theodosia with an unrelenting force. Their voices were growing louder now as they chased after their end. And Lust smirked as he heard the door open just as the couple climaxed, not hearing the door opening over their own shouts. The couple, Lust and Power, watched the last of the drama unfold before them. The pair loved to see the pain and bloody events, got off on it, and after this was all over, they were going to go home and enjoy themselves. Within moments, the man who stormed in grabbed Aaron and yanked him from the bed, throwing him against the wall and before Aaron could recover, his throat was slit. 

They waited quietly, watched as the last of the play progressed. They waited until Theodosia was dragged out of the room by her husband by her hair. Her wailing followed them down the hall and outside, stopping abruptly after a gunshot. A few moments of silence, and one more bullet was fired. Three people died this night, but only one would walk away.

Hiding his smirk with a sweet and loving smile, Lust sashayed his way to Aaron's body and gently woke him. "Aaron, sweetie? There you are...I'm Love, and this is my lover, Dreams. You're safe now."

 

____________________

 

 

_I can hardly think straight, breathing is difficult, and everything around me is foggy, but I force myself out of bed and to the gardens out back, stopping every few steps to catch my breath, cough, and wheeze before I continue my trek. It takes time but eventually, I make it into the gardens where the warmth of the sun greets me. The grass is soft beneath my feet as I leave the patio, staggering to a stone bench. I don't sit on the bench, I collapse onto it. The stone is cold beneath my nightgown and under my fingers; my fingers don't remain on the stone for long when I go into another coughing fit. Mucus finds its way into my hands, a splatter of it with every cough that shakes me._

_The fit goes on long enough that I fear I may never breathe again. I must be purple in the face by the time I finally stop and can breathe again, but I look at my hands to see flecks of blood from the force. A shadow stops in front of me, and I look up from my bloody hands to see a boy smiling sweetly as he twirls a twig between his fingers._

_Worried that the child may catch my pneumonia, I cover my mouth with my nightgown and make a shooing motion. "I-I'm sick...shouldn't...shouldn't be here."_

_The boy's smile grew, "You came out here because it reminds you of home."_

_I stopped and stared up at him a moment before slowly nodding. I miss Monticello, but I don't think I'll ever see it again. I'm too sick, too far gone, and there's no way I would survive the trip home. No one would want me on their ship anyway. Close quarters? Dozens of bodies? And one man with pneumonia? No one would survive the trip._

_And how did I end up in this mess? Well, it was my own damn fault for falling into the river and nearly drowning. An older lady had slipped while crossing the bridge and I had quickly grabbed her wrist to twist us around. I was the one to fall over the ledge, rather that the woman. And a cold soon turned into this mess._

"Yes...I only wish I could see...see it again." I went into another coughing fit and damn it hurt. There was another drop or two of blood in my hands afterward and, not having anything else to wipe them on, simply wiped my hands on the bottom of my shirt. Mother would string me up for this, if she were here, that is.

He missed his family.

"I can show you again if you'd like," the boy offered cheerfully.

I smiled at him but shook my head, "Thank you...but...but that's not possible--" Another coughing fit struck me, and it was longer than the last one. I could taste the iron in my mouth if I had the mind to pay attention to it. As it is, I just want to be able to get a breath of air.

 

_________

 

Life hated this, hated watching this world's life die before his eyes. Death was there too, standing quietly behind the bench and out of sight of the sick young man. The man, Thomas, was suffocating, slowly but surely as fluid built up in his lungs. No, he wasn't suffocating, he was drowning. It had been building over the last two weeks, slowly killing him. His body was weak, he could hardly breathe, and it was a miracle that he made it out here at all.

Thomas really loved it outside, and Life appreciated that. It gave him peace, and in his final days, that's all Thomas wanted. He wanted, no, needed the sun and the fresh air, even if he wouldn't be able to appreciate it for long.

The coughing continued until it was a choke and then gasping. Thomas fell forward from the bench and Life knelt quickly and helped Thomas to lay back on Life's lap. Flat on his back, he'd struggle to breathe, but at least it would be quicker than waiting for the fluid to keep building until tonight. Thomas continued to cough, to choke on the mucus and blood as he squirmed, his frail body shaking terribly as the convulsions tore at him. Death glided over to them, kneeling on the other side of Thomas and smiling sweetly at him. Thomas wondered what he did to deserve two children caring for him. He wasn't a good person, he knew that, but at least Thomas had this moment here, outside with the beauty of the French countryside with two people who seemed to think he was precious. He couldn't be with his family, but this was enough for his last minutes, hours, days, however long he had.

At some point, he passed out from the coughing that was robbing him of air. Thomas didn't know when everything stopped, when he died, too out of it to care or bother noticing. The only thing he knew, was that the sun was warm on his chilled skin and the grass beneath him was softer than silk. It was enough, and that is what Life and Death wanted for him.

Life smiled sadly at the young man resting in his lap, running his fingers soothingly through his dark, tight curls as he finally drew his last breath. Green eyes looked up to meet indigo, and the two friends stared at one another a moment, before Death turned her eyes back to Thomas, giving a short nod.

Taking his cue, Life leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Thomas' forehead to give him life again. It took a few minutes, but eventually Thomas' eyes snapped open, and he bolted upright in shock. Dark eyes flicked wildly between the two children, and Life was the one to speak first.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Thomas. I'm Life, and this is my friend, Death. I'm happy to see you feeling better."


	2. Green Death and Bone White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green Death in a sea of red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chapter. The next two will also be kinda short. These will basically give you a time skip glimpse of our boys in their new jobs. Tiny glimpses.  
> Alex's chapter here is going to hurt a little. Whoops.  
> I'm always up for comments on how to improve or if I made a mistake somewhere.
> 
> Warnings: Still blood and death and sadness.

Death moved silently over the battlefield. What used to be a sea of brightest green was now a wasteland of black mud, red clay, and bloody pieces of what used to be men. It was days like this that he was glad that Washington kept him away from the front lines. With the battle over for the moment, Death didn't feel an awful tug to haunt the scene, taking life after life. Like this, there were only a handful of men crying or screaming in pain that Death needed to take away from here. It was painful to witness, to see some soldiers suffering that he couldn't take yet. He wanted so badly to alleviate their pain, to end their torment.

A few would suffer for several days before he or another could take them.

The bone-white, sheer veil that fluttered around him seemed to have a mind of its own; he was quickly finding. It appeared to catch a nonexistent wind, swaying here and there lazily. Its movements reminded him of the calm before a storm, the eye of a hurricane before it finished its destruction. Most of the time, when he was in this form, he didn't mind it so much. It hid his mask and face, hid the tears in his eyes when he moved silently from person to person. The times he needed to meet with the boys, the ones who will never come close to seeing manhood after this battle, were the times he hated. Death needed to show his face around children; the veil wouldn't let him do otherwise.

How do you fake soft love in the middle of a bloody field for the sake of a child soldier? He hated the king for this. Who enlists boys for their armies? A coward.

He knelt beside a man in blue, one of his brothers in this war, and the veil flowing away from his face. Death reached up and removed the mask so that the man could see him.

"Alex?"

Alexander smiled sadly and nodded, moving carefully to cradle the man to his chest. "Yes, it's me, Matthew."

Matthew frowned up at his comrade, not believing that Alexander was real and reaching up to brush bloody fingers over Death's cheek. He slurred out, "Why're you out'ere? You're...suppos'to be with the General."

"Yeah, well, I needed to see your ugly mug again," Death teased, trying not to cry over him. Crying would scare them; Alexander wasn't allowed to cry here.

The man snorted which only ended with him in a coughing fit. Alexander raised a hand and gently wiped the blood away from Matthew's mouth. This was another thing he hated. Alexander had to relive his death several times around these men, those that died the same way he did.

"'M scared, Alex."

"I know but don't be. I'm right here with you, I promise." Alexander hugged Matthew close as he felt the time nearing. "It won't hurt for long; I promise." When he felt a tug, Alexander leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well Matthew." And then it was done.

When the man went limp in his arm, Alexander allowed himself to weep silently, letting the mask and veil cover him once more. It was hard to watch anyone die or to be the one that kills them, but when it was someone he knew, it was torture. Alexander knew it wouldn't do anything other than giving him peace of mind, but still, Alexander carefully set Matthew down, making him comfortable where he lay. With that, Death slowly stood and waved a hand over himself, eliminating the blood on his black pants and emerald frock coat so that he could move on to the next solider without scaring the hell out of them.

Death was scary enough without adding more blood to the mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages are done in "-ish" measurements:  
> Alex=22  
> Aaron=23  
> Thomas=26  
> Thomas was actually 41 when he did his tour of France, but for the sake of this fic, he's mid-twenties-ish. I like age difference just as much as the next guy, but I didn't want that kind of gap for them in this fic.


	3. Even Kings Hunger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy with my other fic. Whoops. This one is really short but it's something for you guys.

Hunger never thought that he would find himself here. Sure, he was willing to lie his way to the top, but he never thought that it would be this difficult, even with his new abilities. Things happened, dreams came true, but they weren't his. Alexander Hamilton was favored by Washington because of his eloquence and intelligence. John Laurens was favored by Washington and other leaders because of his family. Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette (his parents must have hated him for giving him a name that long...) was favored by Washington because of his status, his charm, the supplies he brought, and his family name. But Hunger? Washington seemed to be put off in his presence. What the hell did he do to deserve that? He'd been nothing but respectful and accommodating, and he worked his ass off for him.

It just wasn't fair.

But Hunger didn't stop trying, of course. Sure, he was the errand boy now, but he'd find a way to impress Washington and the other generals, or he would die trying. Not that he could die; Hunger was already dead.

But he had to be patient and wait for it. He had all of eternity after all. Hunger wanted to gain the favor of the generals first, then become one of the leaders of their new nation, and then hopefully THE leader of the nation. Hunger would accept nothing less, and he was willing to do what he had to in the shadows to turn Fate's favor on him.

Fate. Damn her. She was what was stopping him. She had to be favoring his peers, and Hunger couldn't have that. Not today. Not ever. No. Lust and Power would help him. They believed in him, even if no one else did.

His first order of business was to outshine Washington's aide-de-camps, Hamilton, Laurens, and Lafayette. If he could do something of note, that stole the attention away from them, then maybe he could take his rightful place at Washington's side. Then, he needed to outdo the new nation's precious general. Maybe he could save his life somehow so that Washington would owe him. Then Hunger could earn his trust and then turn around and betray him somehow.

Hunger didn't know what else to do to win this, but he wouldn't quit.

That's the thing about hunger. It comes and goes, but it's never truly gone. It will always find its way back. Hunger planned to be back time and again until he got what he wanted. He'd devour everyone and everything in his way. He liked to think of himself as a source of famine. Winter was coming, and their supplies would be depleted. It wouldn't take long for everyone to begin to starve or freeze to death. Hunger has a way of turning men against one another. It doesn't matter if it's for food or power; humankind will always tear itself apart to get ahead.

He strode through the camps, silent as his rich, burgundy coats fluttered around him. In this skin, he was almost skeletal in appearance, skin drawn tight over bone, as if muscle and fat were missing. Hunger didn't think it was very attractive, but his clothes more than made up for it. He'd never owned anything this nice, even growing up in wealth. It was a shame he couldn't sport it during daily use among the humans.  
Hunger couldn't kill people, but he could inspire their actions. The new soldiers that had never seen war had a hunger for battle and it would be their undoing. Hunger could easily put them into a foolish frenzy. But who was expendable and who wasn't right now? Hunger couldn't off everyone, or the colonies would lose the war; he needed them to win if he wanted to work his way to the top. No. He'd ensure they won, and then reach out to the king to make plans on taking over the nation. He was sure he could figure out what the man wanted most.

Even kings hunger for something.


	4. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teeny chapter on the newest Life.

Thomas was grateful for his position. The budding government back in the colonies trusted him enough to work in Paris with the French monarchy; they trusted him to get supplies, to make friends. Franklin was there, and it helped to have an older man working with him. Yes, he could be taken seriously as an adult, but Franklin had more connections here than Thomas did; Thomas needed him for that. It would take time for him to build his own network, although it may take longer for him. Thomas was not one for throwing himself out there. He could do it if he had to, but he'd rather retreat and hide away somewhere. These giant soirees were hell on earth.

Bodies everywhere, a barrage of smells from hair powders and oils, noise of music and mindless prattle, and so on. Wave after wave of sensory input washed over him, and Thomas hated it. When it became too much, he would wander closer to Franklin to ground himself. Even seeing the man was enough to stabilize him. And when that didn't help, Thomas excused himself to wander the gardens of whatever estate they were visiting.

The things he did for Congress. They owed him for this.

Thomas, free of the stifling crowds, took a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply. Flowers, tended grass, and shrubs that were coiffed more than his own hair lined the winding paths. When he was sure no one was looking, he dropped his human image, shifting to his role as Life. It was like stretching, if one had to describe it. That first stretch one has in the morning after waking, where their arms pull above their head and their back bows like a cat; that's what it felt like to return to Life.

Life sighed quietly and resumed his stroll, hands reaching out to brush along the flowers and shrubs, growing some and repairing others. Summer was ending, and many of these would sleep for several months, if they survived the cold. Life could pick and choose what plants or animals to assist.

He could not carelessly interfere where it concerned humans. That, to a certain degree, was out of his hands. Sometimes he would see Death if there was a birth nearby. If Death were there or showed up, Life had to step back and let Death do their thing. He hated it. He hated it more than anything else. A life that was so precious, that should be given a chance, wouldn't make it into the world. Worse was when the mother died too. It turned his stomach. He knew it was the way of the world, that it was just life, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

Life looked behind him and smirked when he saw bits of grass popping up in the gravel behind him as his purple coat trailed behind him, brushing the ground every so often. Seeing the small things like this is what made his sudden immortality bearable. Sprigs of life, green and fresh, it brought him peace.

Life was glad that he was here rather than in the colonies right now. There was so much death...he didn't think he would be able to handle it.


	5. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions are awkward and terrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is supposed to be longer, but I figured a cliff hanger would be a bit more fun.

Lafayette had been concerned for his friend. He'd received a letter that Thomas was sick, dying of pneumonia; he knew he couldn't make it in time to see him one last time. But then, he gets a letter some time later, after he had grieved for the friend he knew probably died before the letter ever reached Lafayette. Thomas had written to him, assured him that he was healing. Lafayette would have taken off to sail to France right then if he didn't have his hands full with working for the general.

They'd only been friends for three or so years, but they had quickly bonded over gossiping about anyone that walked by the café that they happened to be visiting. Lafayette was immediately enchanted with the American and vice versa. They were joined at the hip when they attended various court gatherings. It turned out that he and Thomas were both ambassadors for their respective nations to the other's. This relationship made things much easier for France and the colonies.

For now, he couldn't do anything but return Thomas' letters and hope for the best. His friends Alexander and John had supported him as best they could when he thought that Thomas was dead. When it wasn't true, they helped him to pen his letters and were just as excited about Lafayette getting them as Lafayette himself was. Their giddy support was exactly what he needed to get through this damned war. His most recent one recounted the tale of how he had fallen ill. Lafayette had asked him several times about it, and it warmed his heart when he saw the reason. He gushed to John and Alexander about Thomas' kindness and self-sacrifice, and they were quick to agree with him. The man nearly died because of it, and he did it anyway. It was admirable, a gesture of a gentleman. He couldn't help a sense of pride for his friend and made sure to express himself to Thomas.

  
\--

  
Thomas smiled softly at the letter he'd received, fingers running over the ink lettering almost reverently. He preened from the praise, and blushed, and then he immediately scurried for his writing desk to send back a reply. His beloved friend; Thomas didn't think he deserved him.

 _Dearest G. Laf,_  
 _I just received your letter, and it has been the bright spot in my day. You're too kind, and your praise has made a flustered man of me. I have not blushed this much since I devoted_ in _my efforts to impress the Princesse de Clèves. I doubt my fame will recover after my faux pas, but one can hope._  
 _I have fully recovered from the distemper that had plagued me for a fortnight and have not felt this_ spry _since my youth. I am thankful to God that I am myself again._  
 _My life has taken a strange turn, and I would enjoy confiding in you when we see one another again these events and changes in my life, but I do not deem them appropriate for a simple letter. Oh, the things I have experienced in these few months since our last correspondence! I am sure you would find them of interest._  
 _Your friends sound like a lively bunch. The genius of your most enthusiastic friend, Hamilton, leaves me with the desire to share a drink with him. I believe it would be an invigorating experience._  
 _Stay well my dearest friend and keep safe in your adventures with Washington and your boys._  
 _Always yours,_  
 _Thomas_

  
\--

  
When Lafayette next received Thomas's letter, he read it to his friends that night. Any correspondence was delightful entertainment and a heartwarming time. At hearing that Thomas wished to talk with Alexander, the man immediately set about writing to him, asking for his opinion on anything from politics to the scenery of Paris and France as a whole. He spoke at length of what he'd learned in his time in school, what Washington was like, and his positive opinion—and fondness—of their mutual French friend. He complained of the cold and his annoyance at Congress for neglecting to supply the troops that were fighting for their freedom.

The response infuriated him, and he wrote furiously into the night his argument for or against one of Thomas's opinions. The debate was a needed outlet for his frustrations, and he enjoyed them, even if his behavior said otherwise. It was good for him during dark times in their battles and starvation.

Alexander hated watching his friends waste away from lack of food while he went unchanged. He would give portions of his rations to them to ensure they would live; he would survive without food and the bitter winter, even if he still felt hunger and the cold. Suffer without a permanent release; it was hell. Alexander wished that it didn't affect him at all, but this was life. It was almost as bad as the hurricane several years back.

The General was a man to be admired. He never complained of the cold, or hunger, or of his men when they fought—this didn't mean that he allowed it. They had an enemy; they didn't need to make an enemy of each other. Alexander didn't fault them too much, and neither did Washington; they were miserable and dying, and tensions were high. This didn't mean it was right for them to give in to their frustrations and bitterness. Some found release in other ways, and everyone looked the other way if they saw something that could have a man jailed and then hanged anywhere else.

At night, he patrolled the camps and battlefields, looking for those whose time had come. The battlefield was hard. His comrades were looking for the dying too, and he couldn't change easily in front of them, not when he was tasked with searching for the living too. The medical tents posed a different challenge. Boys and men alike were bedridden as they fought against disease while their friends sat with them, holding their hands. When Alexander was Death, he was grateful that no one could see him taking their friends away, ending their lives and their suffering. He was as gentle as possible, soothing their fears before he released them. It didn't make it any easier.

The odd day was when he saw another one like him, one that wore fine clothing, but so skeletal from malnutrition that Alexander didn't have a clue as to it could be. Their eyes met once, and it was unnerving; they looked so familiar. It was the eyes and the hunger behind them. The hunger was something so...infectious that Alexander felt his own hunger pains spike until the other looked away and continued on their way. Alexander had chased after them, coats and veil billowing behind him as he raced to catch up. When he did, he called out for them to wait. The figure ignored him and turned a corner and out of sight. It was when Alexander turned down that row of tents that he found no one but Aaron walking in his direction with a letter in hand. Even as Death, he swore Aaron could see him and looked him in the eye as he walked passed. Alexander had raised his mask to watch, saw a flicker of recognition but then nothing. Maybe Aaron didn't know it was him but thought it was? Or maybe it was a coincidence...

That event was just...odd, and it had Alexander up all night thinking about it. Aaron couldn't have seen him. He couldn't have.

He saw the ghostly figure a lot around where rations were distributed and in the administration tents. Alexander had quickly found that the figure knew that Alexander could see him, and the feeling of their eyes on him left Alexander's skin crawling. He wasn't going to approach them if he could help it, but he felt like they were stalking him. And Washington. He'd seen them hovering around Washington a lot, and sometimes it left Washington acting more callous and agitated than usual, and Alexander struggled to figure out the heart of the problem that had this effect on the general. What were they? As time went on, Alexander learned to ignore the other's presence, but it was no less unnerving to feel them.

When he'd had enough, Alexander finally made eye contact with them and then nodded his head towards the flap, not waiting for a response. He was surprised that the figure complied and followed him, but he didn't show it. Alexander didn't stop walking until they were well into the woods and far away from camp. Alexander whirled around to face them and changed himself.

"Why are you always around us and at the supply tent? It's freaking creepy." The figure seemed unmoved for the briefest of moments before they changed themselves. Everything filled out as they became human again, and Alexander could finally recognize them. "Aaron Burr? What the hell?"

"Hello to you too Alexander." Aaron's smile could almost pass as wry.


	6. Death Comes To All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron and Alexander talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just realized that the previous chapter is missing a chunk of the beginning? Imma go fix that here in a minute.

_Aaron found the hunger of mankind to be absolutely delicious. No one was ever satisfied. Whether it was food, power, money, no one was above an unending hunger, not even him._  
  
_But being in a camp in the middle of a war? Aaron was sure he'd be well fed for centuries. Never before had he felt so powerful and energized, not that he could do much with it when he was human. Aaron was sure that, in another life, he could remake himself and no one would know that he felt like he could go on for years without stopping._  
  
_And his friend Alexander? He was a large source of singular hunger. He wanted so badly to prove himself worthy to the world and work his way up, same as Aaron. The young man certainly had the energy for it, although something had changed; Aaron was sure. It happened a few months back maybe--or perhaps it was later--but Alexander would run himself into the ground, working for days until he would collapse from exhaustion. Then, it was as if Alexander could go on forever, like he didn't need sleep. There were also times, when the aide walked by the medical tent, that his steps would falter and Alexander would throw an almost hungry look towards the tent; he practically radiated it. Aaron couldn't fathom why, and he thought the worst. Was Alexander killing someone or worse?_  
  
_His question was answered one night when Alexander left Washington's office/tent in the middle of the night and made his way to the medical tents. Aaron switched to Hunger, hoping it would keep Alexander from noticing that he was being followed, but to his surprise, Alexander ducked between to tents, hiding in the shadows, and emerged as his own entity. Hunger had to stare at the mask and outfit for a moment before it dawned on him that Alexander was a representative of Death. That was a_ surp _\--wait, no it wasn't. From what little Hunger could figure out about the man, Death had faced a lot of, well, death, in his life. If anyone knew how to handle it, perhaps it was him._  
  
_He hurried to the medical tent and slipped inside before Death could see him, hiding in the shadows to watch and wait. Death came in a minute later and made for the far end of the tent. Hunger focused on the man Death was heading for and felt the man's desperation for relief. Anything, he'd take anything._  
  
_Death removed his mask and knelt beside him, running a cool hand over the dying man's forehead in an effort to soothe him. Williams', Hunger remembered, eyes fluttered open, pain and weakness etched across his brow and mouth. A quiet whimper of pain and confusion escaped him, but Death quietly shushed him as he continued to offer Williams what comfort he could._  
  
_"Don't worry. I'll take care of you buddy, okay? Just close your eyes and sleep. I promise you'll feel better soon." Williams didn't argue and forced himself to relax in his_ cot _as Death continued to stroke over his forehead and card through his hair. With the most gentle and loving affection Hunger had ever seen, Death kissed the man's forehead._  
  
_Then there was nothing. The desperate thoughts of needing relief and wanting death to put him out of his misery disappeared. He was gone._

 _This happened a few times, and finally, Alexander noticed that Hunger was around, stalking Washington's "office" and the supply tents and carts. The makeshift office was the center of activity, the source of those that needed the power the most to get what they needed. It was a raw need, no longer dreams or hunger, but something desperate and primitive. Alexander looked up from his work and met the eyes of the masticated figure on the other side of the work area, tensing in shock--and maybe fear--before he forced himself to pretend like he hadn't seen Hunger. Both knew that Alexander had seen him, but Hunger let it slide; he had more important things to do, like absorb what he could from Washington. The very man he planned to overpower one day._  
  
_Aaron hadn't meant for Death to catch him looking at him as he passed by; Aaron didn't know they'd be crossing paths like they had. He'd glanced up at the person walking passed him, only to hesitate when he realized who was passing him by. He had quickly schooled his features and continued like nothing had happened._

\--  
  
"You haven't answered my questions."

Aaron clasped his hands behind his back, "I'm a representative of Dreams, and you're Death, it seems."

Alexander pushed the mask up to rest atop his head, "You don't look like a dream, no offense. I mean, what you looked like a moment ago was mildly terrifying. Why do you look so starved?"

"My...brand of dreams can reflect the dreams of those around me," he replied carefully, words measured and tested before Aaron spoke. "Everyone is hungry; I show the effects of hunger at an extreme."

"Oh, that's odd."

"You seem strange to me. You don't show your position aside from the mask. The veil is unnerving, so I suppose that's something. Why is there a veil? Do you even know?"

Aaron watched his "friend." Alexander had thought about it many times before, but he usually tried to avoid the morbidity of his attire. The mask was obvious, but the veil? "I try not to think about it...and the woman I met when I died, she didn't exactly tell me the symbolism behind everything."

"How did you die?" Aaron asked curiously, leaning back against a tree. He was a shrewd man, and the calculating gaze that he always turned on to Alexander was nerve wracking. He knew it; he wanted it that way.

"I took a bullet to the chest that was meant for someone else. What about you?"

At this, Aaron hesitated. Alexander couldn't see it in his expression, but his lengthy pause was telling enough; Aaron knew this. "A jealous gentleman came home from an assignment early and discovered a relationship I had with a woman he loved. We were in bed when he burst in. Slit my throat, shot her, and then himself. It wasn't pretty." Alexander didn't need to know that it was an affair.

There was an awkward silence between them as they imagined the scenario that the other went through that led them to this point in time.

"Throwing yourself in front of a bullet sounds like a foolish thing you would do," Aaron finally said, holding back his smirk.

Alexander snorted and shot back, "And who would have thought that you'd get yourself a girl? Finally get laid and then you die? Least you died happily."

"I died scared out of my wits."

He shrugged, "Okay, but the build up was nice."

Aaron rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, "Yes, I think it was definitely "nice." I wouldn't say it was worth it, but it was a good time before it blew up in my face."

"Did she also change or...?" Alexander asked slowly.

"No. I don't know why. There are rules, and you'd think it would happen every time." Her husband may have killed her at some point anyway. Maybe it didn't matter when it happened, but that it did. Aaron didn't like to think about what he'd lost. He'd never have her, but maybe he could have the next best thing.

"Aaron, I'm sorry."

The man shrugged and motioned for Alexander to follow him back to camp; Alexander followed him silently. He wasn't ignorant to knowing when to drop the subject, which surprised Aaron. The man never shuts up, so why would he now?

"You didn't quite answer my question to why you hang around the supply tent and Washington's tent. The supplies, I can understand, but why are you with Washington?" There it went; there went the silence and peace Aaron had hoped for. Alexander jogged to keep up with Aaron's pace.

"Washington dreams too." Aaron was still trying to avoid the question, but Alexander wasn't having it.

"We all dream, but why him specifically?"

Aaron whirled around to face Alexander, face carefully blank. "He has far more dreams than the rest of us in the camp, even you and me. Some of them are good, and some of them are not. He's human like they all are." He excluded them for a reason; neither of them could claim to be humans anymore. "He's capable of corruption, of intense want, of needing something more that he can never have."  
  
"And what's that?" Alexander asked softly.  
  
"That's not for me to tell." Aaron was bitter about Washington's dreams, about Alexander's and Lafayette's and Lauren's and all of the other aides and generals. They had everything they could want or need and yet it wasn't enough; Aaron was stuck in limbo without much of a chance of getting ahead.

He left Alexander where he'd stopped, freezing and hoping that Aaron would stop with him to explain. Aaron didn't, wouldn't, and headed for his tent. He didn't have to explain himself to anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> So the first character to die is Alex. He dies trying to shove a fellow soldier out of harm's way when they're on the battlefield. He is shot instead and dies. She had taken the form of his mother as he lay dying in order to comfort him. Death is there to greet him when he first wakes. This is setting up for Alex to be another person with the title of Death.  
> Aaron is the next to die. He was supposed to be running a letter to another general but took a quick pitstop at Theodosia's place. They're doin' the do and just finish up when her husband comes in and kills Aaron. Lust and Power were there watching the whole thing, influencing its outcome, and, oh yeah, having sex together and getting off on watching Aaron and Theodosia. Theo's husband drags her outside, kills her, and then kills himself. Lust and Power are there to wake Aaron and introduce themselves as Love and Dreams. They are corrupted, in case this wasn't a big enough hint.  
> Thomas is the last of the three. He's dying of pneumonia. He saved an old woman from slipping and falling over the ledge of a bridge but falls in himself. His immune system is weakened, he catches a cold, it gets worse, eventually he has full blown pneumonia and dies after two weeks. Thomas manages to get into the gardens behind the home he's staying in while in France, forcing himself to imagine that he's back home in Monticello with his family. Life and another Death are with him when he dies, but they're in the forms of children. Which means that yes, they died when they were children. You imagine how they died on your own; I don't specify for any of the gods mentioned in this chapter.
> 
> If you have questions, don't hesitate to ask.


End file.
